


Boy Who

by Azertyrobaz



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coal Hill School, F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5033344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azertyrobaz/pseuds/Azertyrobaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara has been missing for years and the Doctor decided to do something that would make her proud: keeping an eye on the children of Coal Hill in her absence. And if it entailed taking them on a few trips in the TARDIS, then he’d suffer the consequences. But that didn’t mean he’d stop looking for her everywhere and anywhere he could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy

**Boy Who**

  **Part I – The boy**

**Part II – The Doctor**

**Part III - Clara**

 

 

**Chapter 1 – The Boy**

 

It all started on a Wednesday. At the time, he didn't know why this day was so significant for the Doctor. Up until now, the only remarkable thing about Wednesdays, as far as he was concerned, was that classes finished two hours earlier than usual. Which didn't mean much to Nils, since he stayed until the doors closed every day.

The noise startled him at first. It sounded like an old asthmatic car trying to start. But there was no car when he looked up from his book. And soon voices reached his ears.

“Why did you park in the yard? It's stupid, anyone could see us.”

“Shh, shut up, Chris!”

“I'm just saying, Doctor, I reckon the storeroom as usual would have been a smarter bet.”

Nils was quite sure he knew those two voices, but it wasn't until they turned the corner that he recognised them.

“Oh, shit, Nils saw us!” said Jordan, quickly facing the only person in the trio Nils didn't know.

“He's in Year Nine with us, Doctor,” he added in a low voice, looking up at the mysterious man as though Nils wasn't standing just a few feet from them and couldn't hear everything they were saying.

It all clicked in his mind when the stranger looked at him directly for the first time. Jordan and Chris called him the Doctor. Would that mean that he was the mythical _Doctor_ , then? The one older pupils sometimes whispered about to scare off the newbies? The one who kidnapped kids in his box and took them away for months? The one who some said had once worked at the school, years and years ago, only to come back looking exactly the same? The one who was linked to the death and disappearance of several teachers?

But Nils had heard other stories, too. Stories about a magical man who came from a forgotten planet. A man who could show you all of time and space if you were lucky enough. A man who could transform your whole life for the better. A man who only accepted the best and the brightest aboard his ship, Nils remembered last.

“Hi,” he then said bravely, squaring his shoulders and staring straight into the man's eyes.

He'd show him he was worthy. After all, if he'd deigned Jordan and Chris suitable, then he'd certainly allowed him to come with them. Maybe.

There was no answer forthcoming, and Nils realised quickly that he was probably looking like a dunce, with his eyes opened wide and his jaw somewhere near his shoes. He felt about two inches tall and his resolution not to appear weak was crumbling. Strangely though, instead of utterly crushing him, the Doctor's continued silence eventually propelled him to speak.

“Are you the Doctor?” he asked, trying not to notice his two classmates sniggering.

“What if I am?” the tall man replied in a gruff tone, unperturbed.

The boy was no stranger to cold exteriors from adults and children alike, and he thus managed to keep his aplomb.

“Was that your spaceship I just heard, then? Can I go with you?”

“We've just come back. And we only travel on Wednesdays,” was the Doctor clipped and to-the-point answer.

“Oh,” Nils muttered, deflated. But before he could admit defeat once and for all, he thought of another question, which he was pretty sure caused a slight smirk to appear on the Doctor's face.

“So can I come with you next week?”

“We don't need him, Doctor, he'd only slow us down,” assessed Chris, looking down on him from his superior height.

“Yeah,” added Jordan with his arms folded over his chest, “he's not even fourteen yet.”

“I'll be fourteen in two months, I was born the same year as you,” retorted Nils, shortly.

He wasn't surprised by the boys' attitude - he was used to it. What shocked him was his own reaction: he never defended himself against this type of personal attacks. But he'd quickly realised that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain from this situation. Like a ticket to outer space.

The Doctor remained impassive during the exchange, as though he didn't really care whether Nils went with them or not. But he started observing him in a new light after Chris next jibe.

“He's just a bit _weird_ , Doctor.”

Nils felt himself flush under the Doctor's intense scrutiny. He resisted not looking at his feet with difficulty and instead allowed his gaze to focus just behind the Doctor's shoulder. He was trying to imagine what the ship looked like. Was it really in the shape of a blue box, like the rumours said? Could it travel anywhere and everywhere? It was there, almost at the touch of his fingertips, new worlds and galaxies. He'd actually be able to see it if that brick wall wasn't there to block his view.

Nils set his teeth and resolved to sustain the Doctor's stare once more. The man wasn't done appraising him yet, but he eventually seemed to come to a decision after having catalogued each and every one of his features.

“See you all three next Wednesday, then,” he stated.

With a cursory nod, he put his hands in his pockets and turned his back on them. Nils watched him until he had turned the corner, unblinking. _Unbelievable_ , he thought. He was never this lucky. _Never_. Not even his classmates scoffing could dampen his spirit. _He was going_.

 

 

The following week crawled slowly on for Nils. Surprisingly, Chris and Jordan's taunts were minimal during class. Not only that, they seemed worried, somehow. He only understood the reason for their unease when they cornered him after maths on Tuesday. Realising quickly that he had better listen to what they wanted to tell him, he stayed put, and they all waited until the classroom emptied.

“So, are you going to grass up?” asked Jordan, looking intently at him.

“What?” Nils replied, frowning.

“You'll get scared, and then you'll tell someone and he'll never come back. It's gonna be your fault, I just know it,” added Chris.

If his shoulders weren't already touching the wall, Nils would have tried to back off, but he was trapped. He felt his heart-rate accelerate and his palms moistening. _Don't lose it now, you're so close, the Doctor is coming tomorrow!_ He swallowed once, and raised his chin defiantly.

“No, I won't. And who would believe me anyway?” he reasoned. Even Chris's slow brain seemed to find his rationale satisfactory.

“So, it's really true, then? You _actually_ travelled in space with him?” he couldn't help but add in wonder. He wanted to know everything, even though part of him yearned to be surprised come tomorrow. But he had to make quite sure this wasn't some elaborate trick they were playing on him.

His obvious admiration mollified the taller boys, and they couldn't hide their amazement from him.

“Yeah, it's fucking incredible, you won't believe it. He only took us on the TARDIS twice, but it's the best thing ever.”

Not wanting to look even more clueless, Nils didn't ask Jordan what the TARDIS was - he was pretty sure it was the Doctor's spaceship, after all.

“You're gonna go mental. So don't mess it up, you hear?” Chris underlined each of his word by jabbing his index on his chest progressively harder. Nils nodded, a constant mantra playing is his head: _tomorrow, it's tomorrow, I just have to hold on until tomorrow._

Unsurprisingly, he couldn't concentrate during classes the next day, but the teachers didn't seem to pick up on it. They rarely noticed anything when it came to him anyway.

When the last bell of the day finally rang out, he searched the other boys' eyes and they signalled he should follow them. A small part of him still believed that it was all a big joke and they would soon be making a fool out of him. The rest of him was overwhelmed by excitement. Blood was rushing to his ears and his throat was parched. He tried not to show his childish trepidation to the outside world, especially to Chris and Jordan, but he couldn't help it.

Nils almost stopped in his tracks when he realised where the boys were leading him. The old storeroom. _Was his first instinct right, after all?_

“Relax, nitwit, that's where he parks.”

He nodded silently and when Chris set foot inside the dusty room it was there, right in front of him. The big blue box with the light at the top. He unfortunately didn't have the time to record all its tiny, wonderful details, because Jordan was soon pushing him through the half-opened door.

Nils barely registered that his two classmates were rushing ahead of him. His heart thumping wildly against his chest, he gripped a handrail as he felt his knees weakening. Forcing himself to breathe in more slowly, he made two small steps before he was compelled to stop once more. The fact that it was so much bigger than a phone-box didn't really startle him – he'd somehow expected it to be. No, what left him aghast was the _feel_ of this place. The warm, subdued lights pulsating in time with his heartbeat. The smell of old books and leather. And the sound inside his head... How could the others not be entranced by that song? Nils called it a song because he didn't really know what it was. A constant melody, playing in his head and soothing his nerves.

One more step and he was facing the console. Images appeared to the forefront of his mind. Warmth, safety, mirth. Walking in the forest to pick up mushrooms. Mr. Connolly's low baritone reading _Oliver Twist_. The wet sand between his toes and the exhilarating rush of cold water against his calfs. His most cherished memories relived in the span of a few short seconds and making him feel dizzy as a result. It was almost as though the ship was analysing him from the inside out. Cataloguing his features like the Doctor had done. But Nils didn't feel uncomfortable. On the contrary, he was smiling like he hadn't smiled in ages.

He let go of the handrail and the sensation eased off considerably. The song was still there, though. _She_ was still singing for him.

The Doctor suddenly appeared from behind the central column which was slowly moving up and down. Chris and Jordan were standing side by side on his right, their eyes fixed expectantly on a screen. Nils couldn't look anywhere but at the Doctor though, as he was slowly walking downstairs from a platform he hadn't noticed yet.

He was dressed all in black like the previous week. With heavy duty boots and his coat buttoned in the middle. When he put his hands in his pockets, the red lining flashed for a second and clashed with the rest of his clothes. As far as entrances went, Nils had to admit that this one was pretty impressive.

“I'm the Doctor,” he intoned, standing on the last step, “and this is the TARDIS, my ship. It stands for Time And Relative Dimension in Space.”

He then walked towards the controls, and looked at Nils directly.

“Since it is my ship, I make the rules, of which there are four. If you do not respect them, I'm taking you back, effective immediately.”

Transfixed, Nils was only able to nod weakly.

“Rule number one: don't wander off,” he started, typing in a string of numbers he couldn't see and turning a dial.

“Rule number two: you sick up, you clean it up.”

The Doctor then proceeded to pull a lever, and Nils was promptly wondering if he was about to make use of rule number two. The central column started moving more quickly, and the strange coughing sound he had heard last Wednesday started again. _They were moving. They were actually moving!_ Nils gripped the handrail once more and welcomed the comforting sensations floating through his mind.

“Rule number three: _I_ decide where we're going.”

Jordan and Chris were still intently watching the screen in front of them, and Nils realised that it must show their destination. He desperately wanted to take a peek, but he had a hard time letting the handrail go, and not because he thought he was about to revisit his lunch - not anymore. The song had changed. _Her_ song. It sounded thrilled and inquisitive. A bit like him, actually. Was it mirroring his emotions, somehow? Nils didn't have time to ponder this line of query – the Doctor was pulling on the lever once more, and everything stopped. _They had landed._

“Rule number four: follow my orders,” uttered the Doctor as he was passing him on the way to the door, his two classmates behind him.

Nils gave himself a mental kick - _or was that the TARDIS again?_ \- and he followed suit. The sun was shining so brightly on the other side that it took him a minute to open his eyes properly. He looked down at his feet and realised that he was standing in a desert somewhere because there was sand everywhere.

“Where are we?” he asked, unbuttoning his shirt collar and loosening his tie knot. It was scorching.

Chris raised his chin smartly and smelled the air, pretending to consider his question.

“Egypt. 1350 BC. Or thereabouts. Right, Doctor?” he inquired.

“You just read what was on the screen,” said Jordan tersely, “no need to show off.”

“What's got your knickers in a twist, Jordie?” mocked Chris.

“Nuthin',” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest as though he was cold. “I'm just not a big fan of Egypt, is all.”

Nils looked up at him and realised he indeed didn't look very happy to be there.

“Not to worry,” declared the Doctor, “we're just here to visit a friend.”

This seemed to worry Jordan even more, who grudgingly followed them once they started walking. Nils wondered how the Doctor could stand the heat. Both he and Chris had already removed their jacket and tie, but he seemed completely unfazed with his woollen coat and kept his hands resolutely in his pockets.

“Who's your friend?” asked Nils, trying to match the Doctor's long strides while Chris and Jordan were having a talk about haunted pyramids behind them.

“Queen Nefertiti, the Great Royal Wife of Pharaoh Akhenaten. I met her before she got married. Actually, at the time, I was pretty sure she was going to marry someone else.”

“Who?” inquired Nils, pleased to see that the Doctor was apparently warming up to his questions and his presence.

“A hunter going by the name of John Riddell,” he replied, a small smile on his face.

“I've never heard of him,” admitted Nils, frowning.

“You wouldn't have. And he unfortunately never understood how passionate I was about liquorice,” was the Doctor's answer. His eyes were definitely twinkling, now.

“Doctor!” yelled Chris behind them. “Can you take us to see mummies? Jordan has a thing for them,” he sniggered.

“Shut it, Chris! I'm serious!”

In the end, they didn't get to meet either Nefertiti or mummies. Instead, they got acquainted with very strange and very small sand insects the like of which the Doctor had never seen. They therefore had to inquire where they were coming from only to realise too late that they had a particular taste for human flesh. Fortunately, they seemed averse to the shade, which meant that to Nils' delight – at least – they got to visit a real pyramid.

Once the Doctor had worked out that no, they weren't an alien race of insects who had come to conquer the Earth but merely some very old and very hungry sand fleas, they went back to the TARDIS. Although Chris and Jordan thought their afternoon had turned out a bit underwhelming – and annoyingly made that fact known – Nils was elated. _They'd been to Ancient Egypt! They saw a real pyramid!_ He hoped they'd go on another planet, next time. But he wasn't about to suggest anything, for fear of breaking rule number three.

 

As it turned out, Nils got his wish the following week. They went to a place called Shan Shen. It looked somewhat like he imagined China used to be like, if not for the various alien races they came across in the market town. He couldn't help but stare at them and ask questions to the Doctor when he didn't wander off himself, thus rendering his first rule moot. He never seemed to tire of his questions, which was a welcome change for Nils, and he was hardly ever testy anymore.

Another welcome change was Chris and Jordan's attitude towards him. Sure, they still mocked him on a regular basis, but their attacks were less vitriolic. They would sit together sometimes during lunch, and share stories about the Doctor in quiet voices.

One thing they couldn't agree on was why the Doctor was allowing them on the TARDIS. Jordan seemed to be the most familiar with the various rumours circulating in the school. According to him, the Doctor had been doing this for years: taking carefully chosen pupils every Wednesday to visit far off places or time zones. Despite the dangerous situations they sometimes faced, it had apparently never ended in tragedy. But some students _had_ disappeared for a few months, only to come back believing only a couple of hours had gone by.

“Which isn't surprising, really,” asserted Chris, “have you seen how he pilots this thing?”

“But what started it? When did he decide to do it? Surely that can't be out of the goodness of his heart, or whatever. He didn't suddenly think _we_ humans needed to be educated or somethin'. I reckon he's been doing that for centuries, but not with kids like us. He's like... completely clueless about us, sometimes. Don't you think? He just forgets we're there or thinks we're just small adults,” added Jordan.

Nils thought about the other boy's words for a while. The Doctor _did_ seem mystified every now and then about trivial things. But it wasn't all down to his _alieness_ , he believed. He was hiding something. It was just a front. And Nils was quite good with fronts himself. There was a deep sadness in him, he could tell. It was as though he'd taken on his task of showing children glimpses of other worlds as a personal challenge he couldn't break away from.

“What about that story about Miss Oswald?” he eventually said, in all seriousness, “Do you think there's anything to it?”

“What do you mean?” asked Jordan.

“I'm sure they travelled together at one point, the rumours must be true, it just fits,” Nils argued.

“Yeah, but she disappeared a while ago, now. What does it have to do with the Doctor? Do you think he knows what happened to her?”

“Maybe...”

“She's probably dead, though. That's why they named the assembly room after her,” interjected Chris.

“Maybe not. Maybe the Doctor is sill looking for her. And she was a great teacher, _that's_ why they named the room after her. So perhaps _she's_ the one who made the Doctor promise to travel with us, to teach us what was out there.”

“Why would she do that? And why would he listen to her? He doesn't listen to anyone.”

“Well...” Nils blushed slightly, “you've seen how he is. I think he's pining for someone. And I think it might be her.”

The other boys looked at him strangely. Chris made a repulsed face, but Jordan seemed to be pondering his words.

“What? You think they were shagging, or something? Have you _seen_ him? And... he's an alien!” underlined Chris.

“According to her picture in assembly, she was really fetching,” conceded Jordan, “surely the Doctor noticed that, even if he's not human.”

“We could just ask him,” said Chris, lifting one of his shoulders.

“That's like, super personal, we can't do that. And he probably wouldn't even answer anyway,” reasoned Jordan.

Nils smiled sadly. His classmates were right. Still, he couldn't help but wonder. He didn't want to be unnecessarily cruel towards the Doctor, especially if his hunch proved to be true, but he was sure there was something worth digging. And that it all gravitated towards Miss Clara Oswald.

 

 

 


	2. The Boy (continued)

 

 

By the end of November, Nils thought he had started to understand the Doctor better. Sure, he still reacted unexpectedly sometimes – such as the time he'd refused to speak to Jordan for the whole afternoon when he'd brought tangerines on board – but he'd clearly been less grumpy and more talkative.

Of course, no one tried to broach the subject of Miss Oswald, even though they were very tempted a few times, especially Nils. But since they usually found themselves busy escaping various scrapes or wandering the endless corridors of the TARDIS in amazement, the subject would simply slip their minds. That being said, nothing could have prepared them for the Doctor's aloof and closed off behaviour on the penultimate Wednesday of November.

Upon arriving, the first thing Nils noticed was the song inside his head. It - _she_ – sounded mournful. The Doctor didn't welcome them as he usually did by the console, nor was he in his usual armchair on the platform upstairs. They found him in the library, where they sometimes did their homework on the days the TARDIS refused to take them anywhere.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” asked Nils immediately upon seeing him.

He was sitting uncomfortably on a chesterfield, huddled against an armrest with a book clasped in his hands. Nils could barely make out the title but it looked liked “1001 places...” something.

“It's Wednesday, Doctor. Wednesday the 23rd of November. Is that okay if we're here? Aren't we going somewhere today?” pressed Chris, though in a gentler tone than usual. Even he could see that the Doctor was out of sorts.

He finally raised his eyes towards them and frowned, clearly surprised to see the three boys standing there. He opened his mouth a few times but no sound came. Nils had the vague impression that he'd been on his own for a while. They never knew exactly how much time elapsed for him between Wednesdays, but at this precise moment he stared at them as though he hadn't seen them in months, if not more.

“Why don't you find something to do on your own, today? I'm sure there are plenty of rooms you haven't seen on the TARDIS, yet. Just warn me when you go,” he finally uttered in a monotone voice.

He was definitely unwell. The Doctor never let them roam his ship completely unsupervised.

“Do you want us to leave, Doctor?” offered Nils evenly. His words seemed to have an impact, but not the one he expected.

“No, no,” the Doctor rushed in to say, his eyes shockingly wide in panic, “I don't want you to _leave_.”

“It's okay, it's not a problem if you're...busy,” said Jordan, obviously surprised by his reaction as well.

“I'm not,” he resolutely answered. “In fact, why don't we go somewhere?” he wondered out loud, standing up and walking out of the room briskly.

The three boys exchanged curious looks but silently agreed that they should follow him.

“Where are we going?” asked Chris cautiously.

“Sherwood Forest. It's about time you met Robin Hood,” he answered, moving swiftly around the console and typing in coordinates at his usual speed. From the way he was behaving, you wouldn't have guessed that they had just found him brooding - for who knew how long - as far from civilisation as he possibly could.

“Robin Hood? Isn't he like, a myth?” observed Jordan.

“Certainly not!” the Doctor professed, offended somehow. He pulled the last lever back with more force than necessary and looked up at the screen.

“And if we're very lucky and very careful, you might even meet...” But his words stopped as the TARDIS groaned in apparent annoyance.

Nils tentatively gripped the handrail to see if he could perceive anything. He thought her song was still sad. Yet the sadness was underlined by something else, now: fear. The TARDIS was scared.

“Stupid,” muttered the Doctor darkly. It wasn't clear whether he was addressing himself or his ship. “She doesn't want to land, of course. Too worried I'd cross my own time line and risk...” He sighed, and looked at them regretfully.

“Sorry, no Robin Hood for you. This isn't the early 12th Century outside. Better get you home.”

“When is it, then?” Chris bravely asked as the Doctor was about to reset the coordinates.

“The Palaeozoic Era, mid-Devonian period,” he answered factually.

“Oh,” replied Chris, utterly lost. “And when was this?” he asked again hopefully.

“About 400 million years ago, give or take a few million years.”

“Right. So definitely not the 12th Century.”

“No.”

“Can we still go?” asked Nils eagerly, never one to miss on an opportunity to discover something new.

“Wear your jackets, then. It's a bit nippy, the mid-Devonian period. Shame, really. Early-Devonian was a nice 20 degrees.”

Chris and Jordan shrugged. They were already wearing their winter coats. Nils wasn't, as usual, so he buttoned up his school uniform. He hoped he'd get a warmer jacket soon, though - the morning walks to school were getting really chilly. The Doctor looked at him intently for a few tensed seconds and the boy froze. He then promptly left the room only to come back less than a minute later with a bottle green parka.

“Here, wear this,” he said.

Nils tried it on. The furry lining was wonderfully warm, as well as the hood. It fell mid-thigh and the sleeves were a bit long, but Chris and Jordan were admiring it approvingly. The boy smiled and thanked the Doctor, who stared at him once more but said nothing, and simply gestured the door to them.

“Shall we go?”

Once they had reached the door, Jordan suddenly turned towards them and prevented them from going outside.

“Wait!” he said, worried. “400 million years ago... Weren't there dinosaurs and stuff?”

“That's the Triassic period,” the Doctor informed him.

“And...?”

“About 200 million years in the future, you're safe,” he added patiently.

“Ok,” breathed Jordan, “better safe than sorry.”

“It would have been wickedly cool if there had been dinosaurs, though,” said Chris. Nils was pretty sure that he had used another word than 'wickedly', and he wondered once more if it was the TARDIS interfering.

“The only thing you have to be worried about,” the Doctor declared, pushing the door, “are plants.”

Everything was green. Green, and sort of brownish and mossy. A slight wind, a chill in the air, and not a sound. The plants looked completely alien to Nils, who walked slowly in a circle around the TARDIS. He was even starting to speculate whether the Doctor had sent them on another planet by mistake.

“Why are the trees so...”

“...weird?” finished Chris, bravely advancing a finger towards what looked like a mix between a palm tree and a larch.

“These are primitive plants. The ancestors of the flora you now have on Earth,” explained the Doctor with his usual verve. It was nice to see him behaving like his typical self.

“What about animals?” asked Nils, “When do they get here?”

“You can already find some insects and fish – arthropods and placoderms. They are starting to get out of the water and crawl, hence the trees: they need oxygen for that.”

“Wow,” he marvelled, although Chris was starting to look under his feet worryingly.

They went on a short trek through the strange forest. It was peculiar not to hear any bird or wild animal. The only sound came from the wind rustling through the odd-shaped leaves.

“And why is it called the Devonian period?” queried Nils, who had resolved to prevent the Doctor from escaping inside his head.

“It's named after Devon,” he replied, “that's where you humans found the first rocks from this era.”

“That makes sense...” he conceded, though he had wished for a more interesting reason. Nils was struggling to find something else to ask when Chris beat him to it.

“And where's _your_ name coming from, Doctor? It's not your _real_ name, is it?” he stressed.

The Doctor smiled a mysterious smile, raised his eyebrows and continued on walking. Chris sighed audibly, knowing that he would never get a satisfactory answer.

“What about you, Nils?” he asked, a minute later.

“What?” frowned the boy in question, perplexed.

“Where did you get that name? It's not very common.”

“It is in Sweden, apparently,” he answered levelly.

“Is your family from Sweden?”

“No, I don't think so,” he replied. He wasn't used to being the centre of attention and felt slightly uncomfortable.

“Then why Nils? Do you know?”

He stared at his classmate before answering, making sure that his question was triggered by curiosity and nothing else. Seeing only puzzlement on his face, he relented.

“It's the Scandinavian equivalent for Nicholas, and since I was born on Christmas day...”

“They could have called you Chris!” he intoned, proud of himself. “Clearly a better name”, he winked, but without malice.

“But hang on,” said Jordan, approaching them, “What's Nicholas got to do with Christmas?”

Nils could see that Chris didn't know the reason either. He looked up at the Doctor and saw that he was smirking. Good, they hadn't antagonised him with their frankly silly conversation.

“Saint Nicholas? No?” Nils prompted “I read he was into secret gift-giving and stuff, hence the idea for Santa Claus.”

“No way!” said Chris in mock despair, “You're telling me that Santa is an _idea_?” The Doctor puffed at that but didn't say anything.

They were walking back to the TARDIS when Chris had another epiphany.

“You got really lucky, then, with your name. Imagine that: being born on Christmas day, you could have been called Jesus!”

Nils laughed fondly, a warm feeling spreading over him that had nothing to do with the furry jacket. A jacket the Doctor eventually let him keep.

 

 

The next trip was to be their last before Christmas break, which depressed Nils greatly. When they entered the TARDIS, the Doctor giving them a warmer welcome than the last time – which basically meant that he said 'hello', a great improvement – Nils couldn't help but voice out his concern.

“She sounds weird, today.”

“Who?” asked Jordan, as they were approaching the console.

“The TARDIS. She's like...all over the place,” he replied, annoyed, because he couldn't find the right words.

“The TARDIS is a _she_?” Chris snorted.

“Well, you know people say 'she' for boats, and cars and stuff. It just fits better,” Nils defended himself, his cheeks burning.

“But really, though. Can't you hear it?” he insisted, the song in his mind puzzling him. It was as though she couldn't decide if she was happy or sad.

“No, mate, sorry. Apart from that grinding sound, but that's just the same noise as usual, isn't it?” shrugged Jordan, eying him oddly.

“Forget it, then,” he dismissed, attributing what he was hearing to his own state of mind.

When he looked up, he could tell that the Doctor wasn't about to drop the subject that easily – he was staring at him intently, as he was often wont to. Just as he was finally about to say something, he seemed to eventually decide to reject the idea, and turned towards the controls.

“We're going to meet the Oods, today,” he declared.

“The what, now?”

“The Oods. Good friends of mine. Their planet is a bit snowy, but since you're all wearing proper gear now, it shouldn't be a problem,” he added, signalling Nils jacket with a nod. He wasn't to know that the boy had actually scarcely left the parka out of his sight this past week.

“Beware, now,” he warned. “The Oods are very nice, and very dear to me. So I won't have any childish reaction about their appearance.”

“Why, what do they look like?” asked Chris, interested. The Doctor sighed, then typed in something and angled his screen towards the boys.

“Oh, that is just mental, that is!” roared Chris in delight. “They have spaghetti coming out of their nostrils!”

Jordan sniggered, and Nils said nothing, although he was very tempted to copy the other boys. The Doctor looked crossed and murmured something about 'pudding brains'. Surely he must realise that the Oods looked a bit... Well, let's just say it had been a good idea to show them a picture before they were actually supposed to come face to face with them. Otherwise, the situation would have been really awkward.

They had just exited the TARDIS and began marvelling at the beautiful snow when Nils started to feel nausea creeping in. At first, he thought that it was transport sickness induced by their travel. But he had never felt sick before, and surely it would have started onboard, not after they had landed. They were walking towards silhouettes he could barely make out in the horizon. Oods, he guessed, lagging behind. When they got near enough for him to make out the strange round objects they were holding in their hands, his knees buckled. He knew what it was, now. He could hear it. _Feel_ it.

Because of the snow, Nils didn't make a noise when he fell. He leaned his head against his forearms, hoping the cold ground would make the horrible feeling disappear. So much noise! So many images flashing before his closed eyes! When he tried to concentrate on one specific picture, it slipped away from him and left him dizzy. It was like grasping at thin air. He couldn't focus on anything. Couldn't think. Couldn't move. Could barely hear that the others were calling him. They sounded very far away and wrapped in cotton wool. Colours and shapes and voices were assailing his mind. Dreams, memories. Bizarre ones as well as his own thrown in the middle. _Stop, just stop!_ He couldn't handle it. It was just _too_ much!

“Nils!”

Strange, that voice sounded clear in the cacophony of other voices he could hear. He knew instantly that it was the Doctor, and some part of him realised that it was the first time he heard him say his name.

“Focus on my voice, focus on me!” he urged him.

Nils tried to do as he asked and make his voice the centre of the tornado his mind had become. But once more, it slipped away.

 _I can'tIcan'tIcan't!_ he yelled, although he wasn't sure if he'd actually said it.

A searing pain, now. Like a knife rummaging through his skull. Flashes and distant echoes. Hisses and whispers. Anger and fear. It wouldn't stop. Over and over the same feelings of despair. Of impending doom. Of everlasting darkness. Then...

Silence. Blissful silence.

“There's just me, Nils, now. Just me. It's okay.”

He gradually felt that two hands were gently gripping his head. Two thumbs against his brow. Soothing. Bringing a welcome sensation of serenity. _Everything is okay. You're okay. It stopped._

“It stopped,” he echoed, out loud. His hoarse voice told him that he had probably been yelling at one point.

Just as new images started to appear in his mind - questions and doubts and wonder - the connection was severed and the Doctor removed his hands. Nils braced himself for the assault of voices to start once more but all remained quiet.

“We should go back, they might come back,” said the Doctor, as though he was answering his question directly.

Nils nodded, utterly drained. He was so woozy that Chris and Jordan had to help him stand up. They walked so close to him as they were hiking back to the TARDIS that they were almost carrying him. His feet were the only thing Nils could see, his head felt too heavy for him to raise. Only once inside the spaceship did he dare look at the other boys. They probably thought he was deranged. Or weak. Why had he been the only one to react so drastically? What was wrong with him?

Still winded, he gripped the handrail, and relief flooded him once more. Warmth, safety and mirth. The three feelings he associated with _her_.

“I'm okay,” he whispered, at long last feeling like he was telling the truth.

Chris and Jordan weren't looking at him as if they thought he was a baby. Or a nutter. They looked worried. The Doctor had left the boys near the door as he rushed towards the console to send them back into the vortex.

“What was that? What happened, Doctor?” urged Jordan, although he was still observing Nils as he asked his questions.

His legs still uncooperative despite his blissfully clear mind, Nils let himself drop slowly to the floor once more.

“Help him up,” ordered the Doctor, gesturing towards the platform, “he needs rest.”

“I'm okay,” Nils repeated, feeling patronised. But he had to admit that sleeping sounded pretty great, right now. That and a glass of water.

“And get him something to drink from the kitchen, he's dehydrated,” he added.

Nils didn't have the strength to complain – or marvel at the Doctor's spot on deductions – so he let himself being led towards the comfortable leather armchair upstairs. Once seated and his glass of water drained, he allowed himself to close his eyes.

“Doctor...” started Chris, this time.

“I'll take you home in a few hours, don't worry,” he interrupted.

“You're not going to tell us what happened to Nils?” added Jordan, entreating the Doctor not to leave them in the dark.

Nils pricked up his ears at the sound of his name, but he was too tired to interrupt them. Furthermore, he wanted to hear what the Doctor had to say, even though his extreme reaction at the Ood planet already seemed like a distant memory.

“These things happen,” the Doctor hedged, clearly uncomfortable at the idea of telling them exactly what had occurred in the snow.

“But why didn't we feel anything? Doctor, he was _screaming._ He was in pain,” emphasised Jordan. If Nils could feel his limbs, he would have probably cringed at this announcement, but the armchair was just too cozy for him to move.

“The Oods are telepaths,” he relented, “they use their minds to communicate.”

“Are you saying that Nils is a telepath, too?” asked Chris, dubious.

“No,” the Doctor replied quickly, and Nils started breathing more easily. He had no wish to give people more reasons to consider him any weirder.

“Well, not really,” he amended, and Nils forced himself to stay awake just a little longer. He had to hear this.

“It happens sometimes with you humans, although it's rare. It just means he's a bit special,” he summed up.

Nils groaned internally, but he didn't have the opportunity to complain for long. He was soon fast asleep, lulled by the reassuring song of the TARDIS inside his head.

 

 

 


	3. The Doctor

 

 

About twenty years, that's all he could say. He had decided to stop counting after a while. Tried not to pay attention to the precise number of years, months, days, hours that had actually elapsed since she disappeared. Since he lost her. It was easier to pinpoint the exact number of years he had been looking for her, away from the Earth's slow magnetic pull, yet he was not quite ready to say that figure out loud, least of all to himself. It was slightly embarrassing. That being said, facing the stark reality of the time that had been erased from her life was even harder. It _was_ a tiny number of years for him – it just wasn't a tiny number for _her_. Even if he were to find her, right now, how many years would she have left? For all his assurance that she'd never look any different to him, there was one thing he couldn't look past: the cruel passing of time, and her maddeningly short human life span.

Sure, there was still the possibility that, wherever she was, she wasn't synched to her home planet time dimension. So perhaps she hadn't aged twenty something years, but less... Or, worryingly, more. What if he were to lose her simply to the end of the course of her own life? What if he were to find her only to lose her again? He didn't know what was worse: getting her back for a horrifyingly tiny amount of time before losing her forever or accepting the fact that she was gone. And move on.

But there was no moving on for him. Not until he knew for sure.

He had recently started retracing their steps, once more. Visiting all the places he had been with her in the hope that he might get a clue of her whereabouts. The first time he had done it, he had been struck by the puny number of locations they had been to. How insignificant, when he had planned to show her everything there was to see in the universe. Take her everywhere. But the fact of the matter was, they hadn't had the time. They'd never _get_ the time, now. And never would have gotten the time anyway. Still, he could have done better, he thought. He could have made her time more worthwhile. More enjoyable.

When she had disappeared, backtracking had seemed like the best idea. He was now faced with a problem, though – he had gone back to all the planets and time periods they had visited too many times already. There was a big risk he would cross his own timeline soon. The TARDIS had been gradually less and less inclined to take him where and when he wanted. Soon, she'd refuse to go anywhere which had anything to do with his shared history with Clara.

_Clara..._

There one second, gone the next, trillion of miles away from her home in a galaxy remarkably known for its disinterest in any type of violence. He hadn't left her side. He hadn't wandered off. Not this time. They hadn't even been in a crowded place. No trace of teleporter. No tell tale smell of time displacement. Nothing. Simply nothing. She had vanished in the proverbial thin air without making a sound.

Christmas was a difficult period for him. Always had been. Which was why he'd tried not to spend it alone in the past, even though it had often led to catastrophic consequences. Now that he was mostly spending his time on Earth amongst schoolchildren though, it meant he had to find something else to do around Christmas. Find other people to see. Since the kids had families, and presents, and turkeys, and puddings, and crackers, and funny hats to attend to. Which was fair enough. And nothing prevented him from going somewhere else, after all. Or visit a different time period. He hadn't exhausted all Christmas dinners at Vastra's, for instance. He'd only been there a couple of times. Out of the... innumerable number of years it had been for him.

But he liked to spend the holiday during Clara's time, as he still called it. He still felt as though he should be there for her, somehow. Witness the passing of one more year in her stead. He liked to pretend that she would hold him accountable and ask him for a report on all that she had missed. Stupid, he knew. But it helped. Made her absence slightly less painful.

Which was why the Doctor found himself at Coal Hill School on Christmas Day. It was a Wednesday, as well, which made it even more of an obligation for him to be there. He had parked the TARDIS in its usual spot in the storeroom. It felt strange, walking in the empty playground. He didn't think he'd ever seen it so quiet and so still. The atmosphere tasted like snow. He could always tell.

Clara loved snow, he remembered. Cursing himself in annoyance for falling into the trap of thinking about _her_ , he groaned and raised his head towards the sky. When he finally lowered it. He noticed something. Someone. Standing by the school gate. A boy, he realised, approaching. No need to hide from a boy, after all. And not just any boy, but one he knew. One who had been puzzling him for a while, now. One who'd probably keep on puzzling him.

“Nils.”

“Hello, Doctor,” he replied, clearly just as surprised as him to see him there.

“Did you get lost?”

“No. Just got bored. I didn't know you would be there,” he said flatly.

“Bored? On Christmas Day?” the boy nodded, non plussed. “So you came to your school?” Another nod.

“Peculiar choice.”

“Not really,” he grumbled, on the defensive.

The Doctor observed him more closely. He was almost completely invisible under the jacket he had given him and a woollen hat. But he could still see his defiant eyes staring at him reproachfully. He didn't need to be directly inside the boy's head to know that he wished to be on the other side of the gate. Funny how he'd always been able to read him like a book, except when it mattered most. The Doctor still felt guilty for not having foreseen that he would have a problem with the Oods. He'd gotten so used to the boy's consciousness lingering at the periphery of his mind that he'd forgotten what it meant. He was getting rusty.

“You want to come in?” he asked Nils, who shrugged. “There won't be any trip, though.”

“That's alright,” the boy replied quickly, more eager all of a sudden.

He realised his mistake only when the door was opened thanks to his sonic and they started roaming the empty corridors. They would have to go past the room. _Her_ room. The room he had tried very hard to forget. The room he had not entered ever since that day. The day she confessed she was in love with one Danny Pink.

“What are we doing here, Doctor?”

It hadn't changed much. A platform. Chairs stacked in the back. But he couldn't ignore the commemorative plaque. Or the picture.

“You're still using this room for assembly?” he asked Nils, unable to take his eyes off.

“Yeah. We come here every day.”

“Good,” he replied, meaning it.

The Doctor must have lost sight of time for a while because when he finally turned back, he noticed that the boy had set up two chairs so that they were facing the plaque. He was sitting quietly, hopeful but unthreatening. He wasn't expecting anything from him, he could tell. Any explanation for his behaviour or any apology. There was some compassion he could perceive in him, yet it wasn't oppressive. It felt like... understanding. A perceptiveness that didn't require him to hide anything. For the first time in a long time, he felt at ease. Which was why he didn't hesitate and sat next to Nils, who had finally removed his hat and kept on scratching his scalp.

“Did you do anything to your hair? It is longer?” he asked, frowning.

“No, I got a haircut,” the boy replied, smiling slightly. “Didn't have a choice, really.”

Silence. Clara kept staring at him. With her impish smile and her impossibly wide eyes.

“What happened with the Oods? I mean... Why did I react that way? What makes me so different?” Nils asked in a rush, his scratchy hat back on his head to better hide himself from the Doctor's inquisitive look.

He couldn't remonstrate the boy for his questions. Especially since they prevented him from thinking too much about Clara.

“You're not _different_ , not really,” he started, “just a bit special.”

“You said that already,” muttered Nils, making a face at the word. The Doctor had detected that he didn't like being reminded he wasn't like the other boys. Like Chris or like Jordan, who were frankly typical – though bright – teenagers.

“It's not a bad thing,” he pointed out, although he could tell that Nils wasn't really listening.

“Listen,” he pressed, reaching out to the boy in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

 _Fear, disgust and self-pity._ The feelings assailed him instantly although he had barely touched him on the shoulder. Nils' reaction was also immediate, and he turned towards the Doctor quickly.

“What was that?” he asked, awestruck.

“ _That_ was what made you special. Your gift, if you like,” the Doctor replied, trying to hide his surprise.

He hadn't thought a simple brush of his hand would cause such a reaction. But then it made sense: he'd forcefully entered his mind once to sever his connection with the Oods' consciousness. He now had a better inkling of what was going on in his head at all times. Although he desperately wanted to ask him where his fear was coming from, he settled on trying to explain to the boy what was happening inside him with words, rather than simply showing him.

“You were born with a low level telepathic field. An extra synaptic engram, making your mind more receptible to certain feelings and thoughts. Especially those coming from other telepathic beings, like me, or the Oods.”

Nils stayed silent, digesting his words. The Doctor could tell that he was thinking about various instances when he'd been the victim of his “gift”. They were probably not happy ones. He would have been able to _feel_ things. To hear things he wasn't supposed to hear. Human beings afflicted with this extra engram were rarely thrilled, since they couldn't understand it or control it without external guidance. Alien guidance, as it were. Picking up on his clear yearning for approval, he tried to convince him that he wasn't alone.

“I met a boy like you during my travels on Earth. He was called Tim, and he was very brave.”

The Doctor was greeted by a sad smile. “So there's no way to fix it, then?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No. As I said, you were born with it. There's no getting rid of it,”he replied, frowning. Couldn't he see how lucky he was? How unique? He should revel in the discovery.

And yet he could also understand the boy's reluctance to be different. His wish to be accepted in a world where he was considered a stranger because of his singularity. Yes, he could relate to that.

“Does it mean you can tell what I'm thinking all the time?” Nils suddenly asked, flushing, much to the Doctor's satisfaction. There was still a normal fourteen year old inside of him. He just had to prove it to him.

“Not all the time, no. Only when you're projecting what's in your mind too strongly. When you're very scared or very emotive, for instance. I'm not _that_ good a telepath, and I'm out of practise. There's not that many of us around.”

The boy wasn't convinced, and still tried to avoid his gaze. He should perhaps tell him that he wasn't _literally_ reading his thoughts by looking inside his skull.

“Like when?” he wondered instead.

“Like when what?” the Doctor retorted, lost.

“When did you hear my thoughts? Apart from on that planet two weeks ago, obviously.”

“That jacket,” he decided to tell him, “I could tell you really wanted to keep it.”

Nils pursed his lips, his hands coming to rest on the lapels of the green parka. He adventured a furtive look towards him and seemed startled to see that he was smiling. The boy looked straight ahead once more, but lowered his shoulders, thankfully more relaxed.

“It's a very good jacket,” he argued, half in jest.

“I know. It went to the North Pole, that jacket. Well, it _kind_ of did,” he amended.

They were dangerously circling back towards Clara. Which was a bit hard not to do, when she was staring patiently at them from her picture on the wall.

“She's really beautiful,” braved Nils quietly.

The Doctor sighed, wondering if he was projecting his thoughts or simply the same open book to Nils as the boy was to him. Probably the latter. He hoped, at least. Although he vowed to try and teach him how to control his mental capacities.

“Can you tell me about her?” he asked, once a whole minute of silence had gone by, “What is she like? She must have been an amazing teacher for them to name this room for her... I mean _is_ ,” he quickly added, blushing at his slip.

The Doctor didn't mind. In fact, he didn't really mind his questions, either. Nils hadn't bluntly asked him what had happened to her or where she was. Or worse, what he had _done_ to her, which was the only question he deserved. It'd been a while since he had discussed Clara with anyone. And the boy was the perfect candidate: he knew _of_ her but didn't really _know_ her. Who knew, she might have even become his teacher at one point. He'd robbed a whole generation of children from her genius and influence. In a way, that was probably one of the reasons why he kept coming back to Coal Hill. Kept coming back to those kids. His guilt regarding Clara was all-encompassing. But his biggest regret was this. Her place in the world as a teacher. Her ability to shape young minds and bring them to their fullest potential. The Doctor was but an impostor, hoping to matter in some small way in her place.

“That's okay,” he eventually replied, “tenses can be tricky, especially for a time traveller.”

Nils turned towards him, plainly stunned that he wasn't dismissing his questions. When he sat sideways on his chair to show him he'd listen to whatever he had to say and wouldn't take his eyes off him, the Doctor knew that he had the boy's utmost attention, and that now was the time to tell him everything.

So he told him about Clara the nanny and Clara the young teacher. About Clara the Taekwondo fighter and Clara the soufflé maker. About Clara's kindness and devotion. About Clara risking her life to save the whole world. About Clara risking her life to save only _him_ . About Clara's love for Danny Pink and Clara's sorrow over his death. About Clara's running. Always running. About Clara's wide face that required three mirrors and Clara's tiny legs that required ridiculous and unpractical heels. About her big heart and her short temper. About her persistence in giving hugs and not taking 'No' for an answer. About her second chances. About _his_ second chances.

There were some things he had to leave out. Some things that he simply couldn't face talking about ever again. With anyone. And not just because Nils was only a boy.

Instead, he told him about that day. About her being there one second and gone the next. He didn't tell him about the emptiness she had left. About his anger and his despair. About his reckless behaviour and the danger he had put himself in for a good long while afterwards. About the guilt and the pain. After all, he just had to look inside him. There was no need to hide.

“She could be anywhere,” the boy said after a few minutes. He wasn't trying to cheer him up with misplaced optimism, he was only pointing out facts.

“I know. Which is why I've been looking for her for 187 years,” he replied. It had been strangely easy to own up to that number, in the end.

There were no words that could be used to reply to that, and they both knew it. Still, when the boy tentatively put his hand on the Doctor's forearm, he received a different kind of answer.

There was still fear, yes. But also faith. And support.

“You'll find her,” Nils said resolutely. And in a moment of weakness, the Doctor decided to believe him.

 

 


	4. The Doctor (continued)

 

Things were mostly back to normal the following Wednesday, and Nils made no direct mention of their conversation on Christmas Day. The boy seemed his usual self, if a little subdued, yet the Doctor couldn't help but notice that something was bothering him. Ever since he had joined Chris and Jordan on board, he'd always given the impression that he was holding something back. That there was something crucial about the child that he was missing, somehow. Something that he didn't allow other people to see. With the recent discovery of his telepathic abilities, though, the Doctor had more or less overlooked the issue, and thought that Nils was merely still uncomfortable with his singularity.

That being said, it was obvious that walking through the TARDIS doors each Wednesday relieved him of some great weight. Likewise, he attributed the smile on his face and his loosened posture to his ship's soothing presence. After all, he himself relied on _her_ for his mental well-being on a day to day basis. It was no wonder that the boy felt the same way. Although he wondered why she had such an impact on him.

This appeared all the more glaring every time they returned after one of their trips. Particularly after they had to take part in a Neptunian revolution. Things had escalated quickly, and they found themselves separated in the loud crowd. In the end, they spent three days on the planet and by the time they were all accounted for and safely back on board, nerves were a little frayed on all sides. There might have even been some tears, but the Doctor didn't begrudge the lachrymal emission – it had been quite a scary adventure after all.

He thus expected the trio to be glad to be back on Earth – at the right time on Wednesday afternoon, thank you very much – to enjoy the safety of their (boring) human lives for a week. Reaching the door, Chris voiced his wish for his bed, while Jordan hoped his mum would cook his favourite meal that evening. Nils remained silent and looked longingly at the console. The Doctor was on the verge of uncharacteristically speaking up and ask him what was wrong when the other boys pushed him outside the TARDIS and urged him to hurry up. He chose not to intervene and let them go.

Another area of puzzlement for him was how long he would keep on travelling with the boys. When he had started coming to Coal Hill School on Wednesdays to take a carefully chosen selection of kids on what he called 'field trips for the non-pudding brained', or 'anti-pudding trips' (he was still working on the name), he had established that the key age was 14. Young enough to still be sufficiently open-minded, yet old enough not to easily lose one or more limbs along the way.

In his experience, fourteen years old boys and girls usually lost interest in time travels after about a year for one or two reasons: they found something more engaging (be it other girls or boys or – rarely – their GCSEs) or they got too frightened after a particularly trying outing. This was the reason it was the perfect age, it meant he didn't have to linger and cause too many waves – he wanted to help shape those kids in some small way, not become a liability. The Doctor was very much aware of what was at stake: they couldn't become too attached or too dependent. He wasn't looking for new long term companions. Not yet, anyway. He had neither the heart nor the will to replace Clara. And kids were supposed to be safe since they had so many ties they wouldn't want to abandon on Earth.

He had deemed this strategy the safest approach after several decades of splitting his time between actively looking for Clara and roaming around the universe in the TARDIS to 'help out' (as he liked to call it) in any way that he could. Most often than not, his 'help' implied quite a lot of risk taking. More so that usual. He used to live for that danger and welcome it with open arms – wars, conflicts, disputes, revolutions, attacks, mysteries, vengeance, and various scrapes. Anything and everything that was thrown at him. It was just one way to keep busy, after all. Of course, the result of those adventures was often death, maiming or injury, even where he was concerned. Except for the first one, obviously. Although he came close a few times. Which was why he decided to stop for a while and regroup. What if he died and regenerated and Clara came back? He couldn't do that to her – not again. The guilt arising from that realisation had prompted his decision to do something she would actually approve of during her absence.

Now he wondered what Clara would do about Nils. Probably investigate things further, he knew. However, this would go against his _don't get too involved_ rule. When the next Wednesday came along, though, he no longer had a choice, and had to re-examine his position on the matter.

He parked in the storeroom expecting the boys to bounce in any second and bring in with them their usual exuberance, dubious human teenager smells and inappropriate hand gestures. Instead, there was a hesitant knock. Confused, the Doctor made sure that he knew who was standing outside before opening the door.

Chris and Jordan were on their own, the extra space between them normally Nils-shaped empty.

“Where's the third one?” he asked, checking behind them.

“We don't know,” replied Jordan.

“Is he ill?”

“Maybe,” said Chris, though he looked doubtful.

“What? Did he tell you where he'd be?”

“No.”

“Did he say he wasn't coming?”

“No.”

“What _do_ you know, then?” he queried, annoyed with this conversation already.

“He's not been to class for two days,” supplied Jordan, looking at Chris the whole time, “and no one would tell us where he's been moved to.”

“Moved to? What do you mean?”

“He's got a new foster family, but he didn't tell us where they lived. They might know at the home, though,” stated Chris, happy with his sudden deduction.

“What home?” the Doctor asked, utterly lost.

“He took us there, once. It was alright. Like a boarding school, or something. Even if he comes here. Nils seemed okay with it,” added the other boy.

“Go back to the beginning,” he ordered, “he doesn't live with his parents?”

“He didn't tell you?” uttered Jordan in wonder.

“Tell me what?”

“He hasn't got parents. He's been living in foster care since he was a baby,” voiced out Chris matter of factly.

“He _really_ didn't tell you?” pressed Jordan, the disbelief clear on his face.

“No,” he groaned in frustration, wondering why this mattered so much.

“So what's that about him moving, where did he go?” he eventually asked after a beat, the boys still refusing to come inside.

“He told us he'd mostly lived in homes and orphanages and stuff, because he was never adopted. But sometimes he gets to stay with foster parents for a while.”

“When was this? When did he leave?”

“A few weeks ago,” supplied Chris, “and he was real pissed off about it. I think he'd stayed with that family at one point, and he didn't much care for them.”

“What makes you say that?”

Both boys shrugged and looked at each other.

“He's been pretty miserable, lately, but he wouldn't tell us why. We just guessed,” mumbled Jordan, a slightly guilty look on his face.

“And you didn't think to warn anyone?” objected the Doctor, anger colouring his voice.

“Who were we supposed to tell?” defended Chris, piqued, “The teachers don't give a crap, they probably don't even know.”

“That's right. And we're telling _you_!” nodded Jordan, looking at him expectantly.

The Doctor stared at them in bewilderment. They were telling _him_? Whatever for? He wasn't their father or their guardian or their teacher or a policeman, no matter what it said on the TARDIS. He was just... He sighed. He was just the Doctor, and they expected him to do something about their friend. Did he owe it to them to help? Was their request worth breaking his rules? Observing their young, hopeful faces, he knew there was only one viable answer.

“So where's this home you were telling me about?”

In the end, he only had to brandish his psychic paper once. Who knew that social services were so scared of being inspected? Armed with the necessary address, he parked the TARDIS and arrived promptly at the house Nils was supposedly living in. It took him a while to find the correct door because all the brick structures looked the same, with their postage stamp gardens shabbily kept.

There was no answer when he knocked, loud enough to rattle the door on its hinges, although he was pretty sure he heard a vacuum cleaner stop.

“Nils? Are you there? It's the Doctor,” he yelled.

He knocked again. Silence. Knowing that he wasn't about to turn round after coming all this way, he discreetly soniced his way in.

The house looked empty and depressing. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the sitting room, left abandoned in a hurry.

“Nils?” he called out again.

A head suddenly appeared from behind the sofa. A woollen hat wearing head.

“Doctor? What are you doing here? How did you get in?” he rushed in to say, approaching slowly.

The ever present fear that surrounded him was so potent at the moment that the Doctor took a step back. The boy was worryingly pushing his sleeves down and wiping his palms on his trousers.

“You should go, they might be back soon,” he stuttered, looking everywhere but at him.

He mechanically pushed his hat further over his ears then crossed his arms over his chest protectively.

“Are you ill?” the Doctor asked, frowning, unable to get past the whirlwind that was the child's mind, pulsating wildly at the periphery of his.

He shook his head, looking at his feet and the tatty carpet.

“Why aren't you at school? Chris and Jordan were worried about you.”

At that, he raised his head and looked at him for the first time, baffled.

“Really?”

His eyes were wide and terrified. He took in a laboured breath and his bottom lip trembled. _Fear, so much fear. Pain and raised voices and tears_. Nils quickly lowered his eyes once more, his cheeks reddening under the Doctor's stare.

“What...” he started, but the boy interrupted him.

“You have to go, now. _Please!_ They can't find you in there,” he begged, walking stiffly towards the door.

The Doctor thought he saw something now that his back was turned. A bruise on his neck that disappeared under his shirt.

“What's that?” he asked, pointing at the mark.

Nils raised his hands to his hat, but he couldn't push it down enough to cover it.

“Nothing,” he uttered, turning back towards him swiftly, the front door right behind him.

“What happened to you?” the Doctor asked, dreading the answer and feeling guilt creeping in. _How could he have missed that?_

“Nothing,” Nils repeated stubbornly, his chest heaving.

“Why were you hoovering?” he tried, changing tactics.

“I was bored,” he replied.

“If you were so bored, why didn't you come to school or to the TARDIS?”

“I couldn't,” he managed, “I can't.”

“Why? Does that bruise need to heal first?” he inferred, his voice cold.

The boy shook his head but didn't answer.

“Please, Doctor. Just go. I'll be there next Wednesday, I promise,” he eventually said, defeat and weariness infusing all his words.

“You don't have to stay here,” he reasoned, approaching the child cautiously, like he would a wounded animal.

“I do,” he countered, “but I'll be back at the home soon, that's okay. I just have to spend a few months in foster families every once in a while to make up the numbers, I'm used to it.”

“You're not a number, Nils,” he argued, but he could tell that it was no use.

“Oh yes, I am. But that's okay, too. I just have to hold on for two more years and that's it. I'll be allowed to live on my own when I'm 16.”

His speech sounded rehearsed, as if he was replaying these words in his head like a mad mantra every day.

“I can get you out of here,” he offered, knowing that he wouldn't be able to go back on his promise.

“No, you can't,” he smiled sadly, “but thanks.”

“Of course I can!” he said loudly, glowering.

“What would you do with me, Doctor? Where would I fit in? My life is here, and it sucks, but it will get better, I know it.”

He didn't know what to answer, probably because the child was right. The Doctor closed his eyes and wished for the millionth time that Clara was here. She'd have probably taken the boy in her arms by now, and convinced him to leave.

“You can't stay here,” he tried one more time, and when Nils resolutely shook his head once more, he approached and gripped his shoulders loosely, forcing him to stare into his eyes.

_Boots on the stairs, hiding himself under the covers and pretending to sleep. Two older boys yelling. Accusing him. Pulling him out of his bunk bed with force. Hands gripping his face to silence him. Feet kicking his stomach. Arms holding him back. Threats of revenge and worse consequences if he grassed. Heels against his fingers and his neck. Exploding pain and silent tears. Mumbled promises not to tell. I promise. I promise. A shiny blade next to his eye. Terror. More kicks. His breathing cut off. One last threat and then darkness in the room._

_Different memories. Memories of more beating and taunting over the years. Different places. Different faces. But always the fear that it would never stop._

The Doctor let go of the boy who slipped against the door and fell to the floor, utterly drained. He was gasping for breath and holding his sides tightly, trying to erase from his memory what the Doctor had made him relive.

“I'm sorry, Nils, I'm so sorry,” he whispered, kneeling down to be closer to him.

The boy covered his watery eyes and stayed silent, his panting the only sound.

“They're the other foster kids staying here, and they saw me... They saw that I was watching them that night. They burgled the house next door and I saw them.”

It was all pouring out of him, now. Looking at the window that night because he couldn't sleep and seeing those boys he was sharing a bedroom with robbing the neighbours.

“They'll kill me if I tell, and the foster parents are blind and pathetic, they're just in it to cash in their cheques at the end of the month for taking us in,” he grimaced.

“Then why don't you want to leave?” asked the Doctor in consternation.

“Because they'll just put me somewhere else or worse: prevent me from getting out of the bloody system in two years because I'm 'troubled'. I can't take that risk, Doctor,” he confessed.

It all clicked into place, now. The boy's sadness every time he had to leave the TARDIS because he didn't have a real home to go to. His presence on Christmas Day at the school instead of celebrating with his family. And the fear that seemed to follow him everywhere. That fear was dangerous, he knew. He couldn't let it fester. Or else the child would grow up to become a very troubled individual indeed.

“You can't live like that, Nils,” he reasoned once more, “let me help you find a better solution.”

There. He'd said it. He'd given his word. He'd promised. There was no way he would keep on taking no for an answer, now. He was committed to do everything in his power to make the child's life better.

“The TARDIS is just outside, don't you want to come?” he offered, knowing that he was striking a chord. His ship was a weak spot and he almost felt bad for manipulating him.

“I want to take a closer look at that bruise in the medical bay, and we can talk in peace,” he added.

He could tell that Nils was relenting at the mention of the TARDIS. But he still looked at the space around him worryingly.

“You'll get me home on time?” he requested in a small voice, “I don't want to get into trouble because I didn't do the housework.”

“Sure,” the Doctor lied easily, “time machine and all that.”

The boy would never step into that house ever again. He would make sure of it.

“Why don't you go and grab your stuff just in case?” he said, the boy looking apprehensive, “The things you want to keep safe, for instance. You can leave them on board.”

Nils nodded, convinced, and went upstairs haltingly. He'd have to take a look at his other injuries, as well. If his memory was any indication, there'd be more than the mark on his neck. It didn't take long for the boy to come down, wearing the jacket he had given him and carrying his book bag and a small holdall. Yet in that time, the Doctor had already come up with a plan.

First, he made the boy show him where he was hurt, which he did ruefully. He understood why he'd been wearing that stupid beanie so much: it did a good job at hiding the extensive bruising on his neck and shoulders. He had a hard time convincing him that he no longer needed to wear it on board, and he could tell that Nils felt naked without it. He kept scratching his too short hair expecting it to be there.

Rage kept mounting inside the Doctor as he catalogued the teenager's various injuries. He kept a tight lid on it, but he knew he'd have to let it explode soon. He had small lesions in different states of healing, fractured ribs old and new, a sprained wrist and a couple of broken fingers. He strapped the ribs, wrist, and fingers, made sure all the other wounds were clean and applied liniment on his bruises. The Doctor knew that he'd have to take him to the cat nuns at one point – he hadn't had the courage to make an in depth inventory of all his old injuries, but he was pretty sure there were some badly healed fractures they could help out with. He didn't deserve to suffer abuse-related stunting.

He vowed to make him physically brand new. But he still had to convince him that he should stay on board for the foreseeable future. Until he found out what to do with him – what was best for him. Because the boy was right: his life was on Earth. That's what he'd said. Then it must mean that it was what he wanted. Right?

After a long talk, he managed to persuade Nils to at least wait until he had healed before he went back to his life in London – on the date he wanted, of course. The Doctor knew that the TARDIS was on his side and helped him sway the boy. The prospect of a few carefree days on board was just too tempting.

Their next stop was to inform Chris and Jordan. They seemed relieved to see Nils but horrified at the state he was in and what had happened to him – even though he didn't tell them the whole truth. Still resenting them slightly for not having warned someone sooner, the Doctor didn't try to assuage their guilt and worry. He'd forgive them. But not yet. Even though he knew deep inside him that he was more to blame than them.

Nils seemed startled by the boys' reaction. He guessed that he had a hard time reconciling their obvious care for him with the way they used to mock him just a few short months ago.

The following step was trickier, and required some preparation. The Doctor had given Nils some mild sedative to help with his painful ribs and he had to wait until the teenager had fallen into a light sleep before leaving the TARDIS.

Once again, he was baffled at how easy it was to fool social services with the use of psychic paper, faked medical records and a few well-aimed threats. Nils would never have to go back to that family. In fact, no child would _ever_ have to go there. As for the two boys who'd used him as a punching bag, they were arrested by the police following 'an anonymous tip' by a nosy neighbour.

The Doctor had pretended to conduct an inspection for the government, and Nils's care had been easily granted to him for the time being. Legally. Well, as legally as his psychic paper made it out to be. He would be responsible for finding the boy suitable guardians. Which bought him some time, at least. Enough time for the boy to heal and for him to find a solution. _He hoped._

“Can we go somewhere?” Nils had asked as soon as he was back on the TARDIS.

“Not far,” he added, sheepish, “just somewhere nice. Somewhere beautiful.”

How could he deny the boy after what he had been through? How could he deny him when he sounded so much like the woman he had lost?

So he'd taken him to the Grand Canyon in 1919. Then the next day to Victoria Falls in 1854, one year before David Livingstone saw them. And after that to Easter Island in the 16th Century and to the Twelve Apostles on the Great Ocean Road in Australia, back when there was still twelve. Finally, they went to watch the northern lights in Norway. The Doctor gradually saw on Nils's face the belief that there was still some beauty in his own world.

 As his bruises and body healed – thanks in part to the cat nuns – the boy also got progressively more at ease with himself and with the Doctor. He could tell that he had whole conversations with the TARDIS he wasn't privy to. It was obvious that his ship had a soft spot for the teenager, given the magnificent bedroom it had made for him, with his own observation deck, starry sky and telescope. In fact, he even felt a bit jealous.

He never tired of asking questions and wonder at the use of all the buttons and switches on the console. The Doctor was usually patient and understanding yet he could tell that he had piqued his interest once he had explained how the telepathic interface worked and what it could do. Nils had stayed silent for a long while after that, pondering a request the Doctor already expected and would have to refuse.

“Could I...”

“No,” the Doctor interrupted in a voice that he hoped wasn't too harsh.

“You don't know what I was going to ask,” he accused without malice.

“Yes, I do. You want me to help you find your parents with the telepathic interface. It's written all over your face, so don't look so guilty.”

The boy lowered his head but seemed more confused than actually upset.

“You really think it would work?” he wondered out loud.

“I won't let you find that out, it's too dangerous. The repercussions could be catastrophic. You could create a paradox,” he explained.

“I just want to see what my mum looked like, that's all,” he pleaded, “just one look and I'll stay in the TARDIS. I'll look at her on the screen, even.”

The Doctor said nothing and Nils thought he almost had him.

“I don't really care about my dad, I'm pretty sure he just ran off or whatever. But with the telepathic thingy I should be able to find my mum, right? Because we're linked? Because she...carried me and stuff?”

“The telepathic interface,” the Doctor corrected automatically, “and yes, theoretically, it should work for your mother,” he relented.

“But are you sure you want to find out?” he asked, looking at him pointedly, the boy with no real name and ancient eyes.

“I'm not stupid,” he affirmed, “I know she's either dead or she wants nothing to do with me. I don't want to talk to her, I just want to _see_ her. See what she's like.”

“You'll stay in the TARDIS?” the Doctor pressed.

“Yes.”

“You'll do _exactly_ what I ask you?”

“Yes,” he promised.

The TARDIS reacted surprisingly fast once the boy started to focus on what he remembered from his childhood like the Doctor had asked him, his hands connected to the interface. They were in flight, and the Doctor could see on the screen that they were travelling backwards, which made sense. But then the ship started shaking and rumbling worryingly.

“What's wrong?” Nils asked, just as conscious as the Doctor that the TARDIS wasn't flying as it should.

Lights started blinking on the console and the cloister bell rang out. _What's the matter, old girl?_ And the years were still rolling back on the screen. An impossible amount of years for them to be travelling to see the fourteen year old mum. Things had started so smoothly, what had happened? Why had the TARDIS suddenly started to behave erratically?

“Are we going to crash?” asked Nils, his hands still connected and the ship still rocking them side to side.

Before the Doctor could answer, they landed unceremoniously and fell to the floor in a whoosh of expelled air. The cloister bell was still ringing, even with the hand brake off. The Doctor hoisted himself up and looked at the screen.

London, 1815. A high street. People in regency clothes. Horses, carriages. Then his hearts skipped a beat. There was one person who wasn't wearing the proper period dress. Who looked completely out of place. And who was running at great speed towards the TARDIS, without paying any mind to her surroundings.

“Clara!” he yelled, running towards the doors, leaving a very confused boy behind him.

 

 

 


	5. Clara

 

Clara would recognise that sound anywhere. Even if she hadn't heard that particular noise for almost a year. It was simply impossible to mistake it. She immediately started running, forgetting in her haste that she wasn't familiar with the know-how of crossing streets in early 19th Century London. Her carelessness intensified when she saw the TARDIS door open in the distance and the Doctor appear.

She yelled his name as tears were rolling down her cheeks. With the air rushing around her, they quickly dried, but left her eyes red and itchy. Only when she finally reached his side did she notice that he hadn't moved an inch since exiting the spaceship. He stood frozen and deathly quiet. Clara couldn't help but smile widely, knowing that her ordeal was over and that the Doctor would undoubtedly have something to say about her display of two emotions at once.

“Oh, my stars! I was afraid I was going to have to wait until they invented the telephone!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.

Still he didn't move.

Clara grew worried. Surely, after all this time apart, and all they had been through together - the very good and the very bad – he wouldn't begrudge her one hug? She took a step back and looked at him more closely, frowning. It was as though he didn't recognise her. Or _wouldn't_.

“Doctor, it's me, Clara.”

No reaction.

“We last saw each other on Pollux Valley in the Crais galaxy about ten months ago. Don't you remember?”

At long last, she saw something ignite behind his grey eyes. A spark of wonder. That's when she knew. That's when she understood.

“Doctor,” she started, speaking slowly and holding his upper arms tightly, “how long has it been for you?”

She saw his gaze roam over her features wildly, lost and unsure. This shouldn't have been a difficult question, but somehow it was for him. The Doctor then lowered his eyes, and his reaction changed altogether once more. It was his turn to grip her elbows in alarm. He had seen what she was wearing and managed to recognise it. Without saying a word, he pulled her inside the TARDIS. Clara was too stunned to do anything but follow him.

 

Her stomach dropped several feet. That whirring sound... That smell... Nothing would ever come close. She shut her eyes and let the familiarity of the spaceship wrap warmly around her. It could swallow her completely, she wouldn't mind. Let it never stop. Let her never leave this place again. She was home. Only when the tell tale sound of the TARDIS taking off reached her ears did she open her eyes again.

“Doctor, he might be here somewhere, we have to stay! We have to look for him!” she spoke loudly, approaching the console as quickly as her shorter legs could manage.

He didn't ask who she was referring to – he already knew. From his stiff shoulders and his determined look, she could also tell that he had already made up his mind.

“Doctor?” she tried again, almost tempted to stop his movements. But he wouldn't even turn his head towards her. Something was very wrong.

“You can't just ignore me. Speak to me, I'm right here!” she prodded, laying a careful hand on his arm. Clara tried to make the gesture as unobtrusive as possible, yet he still stiffened. She retreated, stunned, and he proceeded to press buttons she didn't think she had ever seen him use before. The TARDIS groaned ominously.

“What have you done? What is that sound?” she asked, fearing again she would not receive an answer.

“Shields,” a voice said. “All the shields.”

A boy was standing near the door. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed him coming in. But then, she hadn't been focused on looking for extra passengers. The child, who upon closer inspection looked a little older than she had first thought, was gripping the railings tightly, as though doing so provided him direct access to the inner workings of the TARDIS. And perhaps it did, after all, given his assertion.

“Why would we need them?” Clara queried, looking from the young teenager to the Doctor and wondering who would be answering her.

“You know exactly why,” replied the Doctor curtly, eying the dress she was wearing, “I can't risk them tracing you – us.”

He then lowered a last lever and stood back from the console, satisfied. The TARDIS fell eerily silent as a result.

“We need to find him before they do,” she tried once more. Her resolve wouldn't crumble now – she had come so far, she had been so strong.

“I know,” said the Doctor in a gentler tone, “and we will, I promise,” he added, reaching her side.

Clara raised her eyes at his soothing words. She breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the last few hours finally catching up with her. The Doctor she knew was still in there somewhere, then. Although he kept his distance.

“I'm terrified,” she admitted, voicing out fears she had kept secret for too long.

The look she saw reflected in the Doctor's eyes told her that she wasn't the only one. Yet his unwillingness to come any closer spoke volumes - unquantifiable volumes she would have to bridge through, and quickly.

“Tell me you have a plan,” Clara said.

For the first time in a long time, she let herself rely on someone else, someone she used to rely on a great deal – perhaps too much, which certainly precipitated the situation they now found themselves in.

“I will have a plan as soon as you tell me everything,” he replied, and she made the conscious decision to trust him – she always did – and she knew that she would need to trust him in this matter even though it would add to her anguish. Trust him to make the right decisions, even if it went against everything she held dear.

“You've already guessed most of it,” she stalled, lowering her eyes to the intricate white and gold dress that had propelled the Doctor into action.

Now that she was faced with the stark reality of telling the Doctor what had happened these past ten months, she found herself floundering. Although she had rehearsed that particular conversation hundreds of times in her head.

“I still need you to tell me,” he pressed quietly, his hands coming to rest at her waist.

It was the first warm gesture he was offering her since he had landed. The first display of affection in ten months, and she felt overwhelmed. Hoping that he wouldn't reject her this time, she stood on her tiptoes and slid her arms around his shoulders. When his grip tightened protectively around her, she finally let herself collapse against him and closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears. It spurred the Doctor into action and she found herself pressed that much closer against his chest.

“We'll find him, I promise,” he whispered, the words heavy in her ear, which only caused more sobs to escape her.

“I'll be in my room, Doctor,” spoke a small voice behind her. She had foolishly forgotten about the boy in her grief. Clara felt the Doctor nod against her shoulder, but then he called the child back.

“I'm sorry it didn't work, Nils. But we can try some other time,” he said.

“That would be nice. Thanks, Doctor,” replied the young teenager in a hopeful tone.

Clara was too taken by her own emotions at the moment to ask the man who was holding her securely what that had been about.

“Tell me, Clara. Just tell me. That dress you're wearing, I know it. Does that mean...?”

“Our baby boy...” she finally uttered, feeling strong enough to voice his existence out loud, despite the heavy tears clouding her vision.

“I'm sorry,” he replied, just as broken as her at the moment.

“Don't say that. Don't _ever_ say that,” Clara underlined emphatically, stepping back from his embrace.

His stunned reaction was proof enough that her words were unexpected. She sighed and raised trembling hands to his cheeks.

“Don't make me regret it, Doctor. I can't. Even if...”

Even if they never found him. Even if the Time Lords found him before they did and acted on their interpretation of the prophesy, just like they had set out to do.

Clara stumbled slightly under the weight of that realisation, and let the Doctor lead her to the medical bay. Once he had made sure she was physically sound, she knew that nothing was holding her back from telling her story. So, sitting side by side on the examination table, her nervous hands clasped between his, she did.

She told him about being with him one second and gone the next. About her kidnapping that turned out to be true in more ways than one. About finding out she was pregnant. About the Time Lords' plan to turn their child into the prophesied saviour of Gallifrey and force the Doctor to come back. About the awe she seemed to inspire in everyone she met on the planet and the way it scared her. About the kindness of strangers and the thoughtlessness of people who pretended to help her. About giving birth and feeling torn between wanting to share that experience with him and wanting him to stay as far away from Gallifrey as possible. About how beautiful and perfect their son looked. About his dark hair and blue eyes and the first smiles she witnessed in those three months she got to keep him. About her refusal to name him, knowing the power names held on this planet. And finally, ironically coming full circle, about him being with her one second and gone the next.

“Someone just took him from me one day and I was so afraid that they would turn him into that... that _weapon_ they had been raving about, but he disappeared,” she related, out of breath but completely focused on her retelling.

“What weapon?” pressed the Doctor, who hadn't stopped holding her hand, tighter and tighter as the story progressed.

“The prophesy about the Hybrid. A creature born from two warrior races who would either save Gallifrey or destroy it. They said that you knew about it, and that our child would drag you out of your hiding place and force you to show yourself.”

“What did they want to do with him?”

“They didn't tell me everything. I was so relieved they didn't take him away from me as soon as he was born. But they talked about exposing him to the time rift. I know they wanted to manipulate him. To transform him. Like others did with...”

The Doctor wouldn't let her say it. Say her name. But it was there in their minds and they both knew it. _River_. He had told her how she came to be. How she was born to kill the Doctor – her exact opposite. How she had been taken from Amy and Rory, who never got to know her until much later – when it was already almost too late.

Clara closed her eyes. The confession had drained her of her last strengths. She knew she had barely scratched the surface of her narrative and that they hadn't even started talking about what _he_ had been through. Clearly, it had been more than ten months for him. But having him talk about his side of the ordeal was a different kettle of fish altogether, and it wouldn't be resolved overnight. The best they could do, for now, was to regroup and plan ahead.

“How do you know he just disappeared? A three month old baby doesn't just disappear, especially when the Time Lords themselves are guarding him,” he pressed, dubiousness clearly written all over his features.

“A TARDIS was stolen on the same day, and it came back empty. So whoever took our son must still have him, although it's apparently not a Time Lord, since no one else was accounted missing that day. And they looked _everywhere_.”

Clara could tell that the Doctor was brimming with questions regarding that mysterious kidnapper. A mysterious kidnapper who had known _exactly_ when her back was turned to take her baby and when guards wouldn't be stationed at her door. Of course, she was sensible enough to realise that something very wrong might have happened. That some harm might have come to her child. And yet, her instinct told her that it wasn't the case. That her child was safe with whoever had taken him. Stupid, she knew, but she had chosen to cling to that belief. A belief she couldn't share with the Doctor yet - she didn't think he would understand.

“Stealing a TARDIS is also how I eventually escaped. It was surprisingly easy. Once our baby was gone, there didn't seem to be much point locking me up. But I didn't know that it would disappear right after I landed, else I would have tried for another century.”

The Doctor looked at the opposite wall, lost in though for a while. “A one way TARDIS...” he pondered out loud.

“Yes, I didn't know how far away from Earth I was, so I decided to use the telepathic interface. And it worked, I found you,” she smiled.

He turned towards her swiftly. “The telepathic interface? What do you mean?”

Clara frowned, wondering why this mattered so much. “I decided to use it instead of the controls. I focused on you. Seeing you again, coming back to you.”

She omitted to add that she hadn't solely been focussing on him - she had been focussing on her son as well. The TARDIS had apparently known what to do with the complex information, since she had at least found the Doctor.

“Do you think that's what happened for our baby as well? That whoever took him led him to London? To you?” she queried, desperate for him to tell her that he knew where to find him.

“I doubt it. The person who took him knew that the TARDIS was set for a one way travel. So he or she wouldn't go somewhere so...primitive,” he let out, looking at her sideways.

“So you're basically saying he could be anywhere.”

“Yes.”

She let the weight of his one word answer settle over her. Strangely, this didn't terrify her as much as it should. The Doctor would find a way after all, he always did.

“There's another thing I don't understand,” she said, pestering at how tired she felt when all she wanted to do was concentrating on coming up with ideas, “how did you know when to land? You arrived a few minutes after me. I thought you would have already been there for me to find you with the telepathic interface.”

It became apparent that the Doctor had been pondering the same question and had no answer. She knew that he was hiding something from her – something he was still unsure about.

“We were in flight, and also using the telepathic interface as it were. Well, Nils was using it. Then, at one point, the TARDIS changed course abruptly – we didn't land where we were supposed to land. I guess she picked up your signal, somehow.”

His answer didn't satisfy him, she could tell. But it would have to do for now. Clara could feel a painful headache settling in. The only thing she would be able to do right now was sleep.

She believed him when he said that their son hadn't landed in 1815 London, and it was no use looking for him there. Although she didn't buy his suspicion that the Time Lords were tracking her down. This was misplaced paranoia induced by fear, according to her. She believed quite the opposite in fact: they had simply let her go when she was no longer useful to them. Still, it would be stupid to lead them to their target, so Clara would be careful and allow the Doctor to make decisions. Well, some of them anyway.

“I need some sleep,” she said, standing up and stretching her back.

He nodded.

“You clearly need some, too,” she commented, aware for the first time that the Doctor didn't simply look tired and anxious. He seemed to be at the end of his tether – as though he had completed a very long run and just been told that he was only halfway through. Clara thought he looked thinner as well, although she wasn't sure how that was possible: there was barely anything on him to start with. His hair was a wilder, longer mess than in her memory, but she didn't mind that, and stopped resisting the urge to run her hands through it.

“Are you coming?” she asked, forcing herself not to notice his startled reaction at her touch.

“I can't,” he replied, looking anywhere but at her, “I have to check some things. Start looking.”

“You need some rest,” she pressed, hoping that he understood what she meant when she slid her hands to his cheeks. _Please lay down with me. Please hold me._

“I missed you,” Clara added, almost as an afterthought, when this thought actually held centre stage in her mind.

He finally raised his red lined eyes to her. “Oh, Clara, I missed you too,” he breathed out, resting his hands against hers. Clara was certain that she had him now, and that they'd be able to bridge that terrifying gap between them as well as the pain she saw reflected in his grey orbs.

“But I can't stop now. I have to keep moving, I have to _do_ something.”

The Doctor stood up quickly and dropped her hands which now lay limply at her sides.

“Go have some rest. I promise I'll have a plan when you wake up,” he vowed, showing her a smile he probably thought was reassuring. Ten months apart hadn't consigned her ability to read him to oblivion, and she still could recognise a facade when she saw one. Aware that she was too exhausted to fight for now she relented, sighed, and nodded. Watching his retreat, she pledged to fight harder tomorrow.

 

Once back in her old room, Clara took the dreaded yet beautiful white dress off. The dress all new mothers wore on Gallifrey and which had shocked the Doctor so.

After a welcome shower, she laid down but sleep wouldn't come. She didn't know whether it was because finding herself in her old bed felt weird after so long, or because she was no longer used to the sound of the TARDIS at night. An unobtrusive presence, yes – but a presence nonetheless. Something she was no longer accustomed to after the uncanny silence of her room back on Gallifrey. Except for the last three months, of course. When she had...

She pushed the thought back forcefully. They would soon be reunited. Her perfect baby boy. Tears had come so easily to her on the (thankfully) short days she had spent on Gallifrey following his disappearance. And yet, and yet... Even then another feeling had started creeping in her mind. A feeling that aroused both disgust and guilt in equal measures.

_Relief._

There was no denying it. Once it had plainly appeared that her baby had been taken out of Gallifrey and wasn't in the hands of some prophesy-crazed Time Lord who would do him harm, relief had quietly settled in. Relief that her son wouldn't be subjected to an awful destiny and be turned into a weapon. Even if it meant he had to be taken from her. Even if it meant she would never see him again. Yes, even then, she knew.

And she slept.

 

 

 

 


	6. Clara (continued)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to this story. But rest assured - it's now back on track with more regular updates on the way! Thank you for you encouragement and comments, as always. :)

 

Clara didn't know how long she had been asleep when she woke up, groggy and alone. Or so it seemed at first. When her eyes got used to the darkness, she noticed a shape sitting at the end of her bed.

“How long have you been there?” she asked him, her voice hoarse.

“Not long,” he replied, although it was impossible to tell if he was lying.

“Did you find anything?” hopeful, but aware that it was still too soon.

“I will.”

The Doctor started breathing in loudly then stopped himself midway and exhaled more slowly, thinking he'd be able to hide how tired he actually was. This must have been going on for far too long.

“Tell me, Doctor,” she started, calm and unthreatening, hoping he would speak to her this time. “How many years? How many years has it been for you since I disappeared?” she asked, moving to the end of the bed and kneeling behind him.

He remained obstinately silent. Laying her palms flat against his back, she felt his breath hitch once more, his hearts stutter. The direct approach still wouldn't work. Clara sighed.

“How long has it been for me, then? What did I miss on Earth?”

Perhaps it was easier for him to talk about her. Forcing herself not to react at his tremor of discomfort, she rested her chin against his shoulder and tried to read his face in the dark. A face she used to know so well. A face she still knew, of course, but which had become a mystery once more.

“Twenty one years,” he uttered surprisingly quickly.

Her hands stopped abruptly on their journey to his chest.

They had been travelling together for a while. And Clara knew the laws of time, knew what it meant. Otherwise, he wouldn't tell her. He would lie about the number, say it didn't matter and they would be able to fix it.

During her forced exile, she had contemplated the possibility of missing out on a few years back home. But if she were completely honest, she hadn't expected the gap to be quite so big between the time she had felt pass, and the time that had actually passed on Earth. She swallowed quickly, trying to ignore the lump that had formed in her throat. The lump representing what it meant – what had changed, what had disappeared, what had died in her absence. She had more pressing matters to attend before focusing on what was lost, never to be regained again. For now, she would hold on to the things she _could_ regain.

Forcing herself to breathe in calmly, she resumed her intent to hug to herself the one thing she had already managed to reclaim.

“I'm sorry,” the Doctor said, misunderstanding the reason behind her need for closer contact, “your disappearance became a fixed event on Earth. Time... moved on.”

“Well, I didn't,” she replied stubbornly. Although she had - of course she had. But not where it mattered most. Her love for the Doctor was still intact. Stronger than ever after the past ten months.

“Lie down with me,” she ordered, hardening her resolve, “you're exhausted.”

Understanding that she wouldn't take no for an answer this time, he let himself being pulled towards the centre of the bed. His back to her, he forced his eyes closed, even though he was aware that sleep wouldn't come. Not for him. Not now. There was still so much that needed to be done. So much at stake. The soothing movement of her palms against his back and chest soon proved him otherwise.

The Doctor slept, Clara's hands keeping his demons at bay.

 

When he woke up a short while later – tired as he was, a part of him still prevented him from losing consciousness for more than half an hour at a time – it was to another question from Clara.

“What are those?” she asked, tracing, red, angry lines that started low on his back and disappeared under his shirt towards his neck, where her hands couldn't reach.

“Some kind of scars?”

“Yes,” he answered, unmoving, letting her smooth over the puckered skin that would never mend.

“They seem old...” she commented, hoping that he would elaborate. But he didn't, and merely replied in the positive once more.

“Why didn't they heal? You always heal. Any cut, bruise or mark – they always vanish from your skin.”

“Not those, they can't be erased.”

Clara didn't stop her slow movements, patience and understanding infusing her touch. She deserved more than he was currently offering her - aborted confessions and meaningless excuses. Despite how painful it was to be honest about this.

“They were caused by Antares steel, the sharpest metal in the universe. Even Time Lords don't heal from those. I was lucky this was the only visible damage.”

_Lucky_ , another empty word. And she couldn't see the other marks on his chest.

Her hands stilled, then pulled his shoulder towards her, forcing him to face her. The Doctor blinked – he had forgotten how piercing her gaze was in anger.

“What where you doing to deserve this?”

“I was trying to do the right thing,” he shrugged. “But I might have underestimated the danger of the situation at the time.”

“You mean you were careless?”

“Yes,” he conceded, hoping the conversation on this subject would be short-lived.

Clara frowned, her eyes still fiercely staring him down.

“Why?”

_Because you weren't there. Because I was alone. Because I'm an idiot. Because I felt guilty. Because the rush of adrenaline felt good. Because I welcomed the pain. Because I wanted to die for a while._ Any answer would do, really.

“Because I thought I had to,” he settled on summarising.

“How long was this after I was taken?” she wondered, on point, as usual.

“Not long.”

The Doctor marvelled at how easy it actually was to speak to her in the dark. Lying to her was impossible, here. On the bed he used to share with her. The bed he'd almost always resisted to lie on in her absence. He tried not to dwell on those times, which were filled with anger and fear and self pity. The three emotions he had recognised so easily in Nils.

“And it stopped?” she pressed, her lips set.

“What?”

“This carelessness. Tell me it did,” Clara urged, her fear now almost palpable.

“It did,” he assured her, hoping his eyes could convey the truth behind his words despite the lack of light.

Funny how perceptive she remained where he was concerned, while he had somehow forgotten how well she knew him. But then, for her part, they had only been separated for ten months. And not...

“What made you change your mind?” she interrupted his thoughts.

He didn't answer her verbally, yet Clara seemed to find what she was looking for in his stare. _You. Always you._ She laid back down next to him, apparently satisfied.

Now was his turn, then. Taking a deep breath, he asked his first question. The question that would help him move his search along.

“Tell me about that day. When your baby... When he disappeared. I need to know everything.” A beat. “I'm sorry - I know it must be painful for you to talk about this, but I need all the details.”

“It's okay,” she was quick to reply, “I need to tell you while it's still fresh in my mind. It was only... God, it was only a couple of days ago. Although days are longer on Gallifrey, but you must know that already. I had to trick myself into counting days like we do on Earth in order to keep track.”

“Actually, since Gallifrey moved – well _was_ moved, really – I'm expecting that a few things changed. It wasn't transported with its own surrounding planets, moons and galaxies after all. Its rotation time might have changed, depending on which stars it found to gravitate around.”

He stopped when he distinguished the odd shaped smile on Clara's lips.

“What?” he asked, piqued.

“Nothing, I guess I just missed that... You, rambling on. But you're right, they told me Gallifrey used to have two suns. There's only the one, now. The nights last for 40 long hours out of 46. And when the sun shines, it's scorching and unforgiving. Quite unwelcoming, that planet of yours,” she joked, when she saw how sad her revelations had made him.

“In the galaxy of Kasterborous, night only lasted for 8 hours, and it took two more hours for the planet to complete one rotation. It was perfect – 8 hours for the young and the old to sleep, and 40 hours of daylight for everything else.”

“I can't imagine sleeping only 8 hours in two days. Well, two days for me on Earth, at least,” she remarked out loud.

“It's only the very young and the very old who need that much sleep.”

“No wonder you're all mad,” she concluded, and the Doctor could see this wasn't in jest this time. He thus refrained from commenting, and let Clara speak her mind.

“It was night when it happened. Close to dawn. I was asleep. I didn't sleep much but I usually slept just before dawn - me and the baby both, for once at the same time. The person who took him must have known that,” she pointed out, having already worked out that important detail.

“It happened so quickly. I noticed he was gone when I woke up, and I thought the Time Lords had taken him away from me without warning. It soon turned out that they didn't – they were as puzzled as I over his disappearance. Apparently, you all have some kind of marker that can be used to track you down when you leave the planet?”

The Doctor nodded.

“But not newborns,” Clara added.

“No, it comes later.”

“Do you still have that trace?” she asked, curious.

“Of course not,” he scoffed, offended somehow, “I consciously got rid of it when I first regenerated outside of Gallifrey. As anyone with half a brain should. You don't want those people to have that much power over you.”

“The Time Lords said they would know as soon as someone left the planet because of the marker. But no one did, except that a TARDIS disappeared, only to come back empty. I don't think a three month old managed to escape my room on its own. Although maybe the person who took him was like you – lacking his or her marker. I hadn't anticipated that possibility...”

Clara was worried now, the Doctor could tell. Her belief that her child was safe – as tenuous as it had been – was shaken.

“Did they tell you how they proceeded to search for him?” he pondered, trying to make her focus on something else. Something more tangible that would help him.

Clara took a deep breath and focussed her thoughts once more on that morning.

“There was a lot of confusion. From what I understood, they thought at first that other babies had been taken from the looming matrix, and were led on a wild goose chase for a while. It's only later that I realised that it had been done deliberately, in order to cover up the tracks. Only some identification bracelets were stolen.”

“You're saying it was carefully planned out, then.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “which doesn't make sense since so very few people knew about my baby. Only high ranking Time Lords focused on their stupid prophesy. Everyone was accounted for and no one left the planet even for a short amount of time.”

“So it must have been someone coming from the outside. Someone who wasn't noticed,” he pointed out.

“Who?”

“I've no idea. But I'll find out,” the Doctor answered resolutely, rolling out of bed.

He now had enough to focus his search. Clara didn't try to stop him this time, and when he exited her room with a simple “Just rest”, she didn't have the energy to feel angry. As if that was the only thing she could do. As if she couldn't help. But he was right on one thing – he knew better than her where or what to look for. And it felt good to let someone else make the important decisions for once.

They kept circling the most important subject of all – their son. Clara had no idea how he felt about the discovery that they had a child together. She understood that focusing on finding him was probably the safest road to remain sane, yet she still wished he'd say something. Something that showed her that the object of their search mattered to him. Not simply the search itself. But then, how could she blame him? She'd stepped back into his life after God knew how many decades or worse, only to be told that they couldn't stop and simply revel in that fact – another task was awaiting them. Fatherhood and all it represented for them had to be put on hold.

 

Unsurprisingly, she was unable to fall back to sleep, and decided to wander the endless corridors of the ship to soothe her nerves. First though, she would stop for tea. Nothing had come close on Gallifrey, despite the delicacies she had been offered to try – and fail – to mollify her spirited temper.

She easily found her way to the kitchen and was stunned to come face to face with the TARDIS other (only?) passenger. How could she have forgotten to ask the Doctor about him? She felt stupid and ridiculous.

Oh, well. No time like now to introduce herself.

“Nils, right?” she started, observing the boy wearing stripped pyjamas and, for some unknown reason, a woollen hat, with what she hoped was an approachable smile.

He was in the process of eating cereals. Perhaps it was morning back on Earth. If indeed Earth was his home planet. He looked human enough, but Clara knew better than anyone how deceiving that deduction was.

“Morning, Miss Oswald,” he replied carefully, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Oh, so it's morning then? And please, call me Clara. How do you know my name anyway?” she asked, sitting down in front of him. Tea could wait.

“You used to teach at my school. And there's a picture of you in the Assembly room.”

“Coal Hill?” Clara couldn't hide her surprise.

“Yes, I'm in Year 9. Me and Chris and Jordan, we travel with the Doctor every Wednesday since October. But he let me stay for a bit longer last time, because I've been... ill.”

She didn't know where to begin. And clearly the boy was hiding something. Before she could figure out where to start though, Nils beat her to it.

“I'm so glad the Doctor found you. He's been looking for you for such a long time! Did you meet him when you were teaching at Coal Hill? Was that when you started travelling together?”

Clara took a deep breath, ready to answer him and ask a few questions of her own, but he wasn't done.

“We reckon he's been taking some pupils on trips ever since you... you know, disappeared. So it's been a while. But you look the same as on your picture, like you didn't age. Are you a Time Lord like him? Or are they called Time Ladies?”

She couldn't help but grin – there was no stopping that boy. It was refreshing after so much time virtually on her own then be met by a taciturn Doctor. Yes, she could definitely picture Nils as one of her pupils from Coal Hill.

“Sorry, that's too many questions at once isn't it? And you must be so tired... I do that sometimes and I think the Doctor just kinds of... sleeps, when it gets too much.”

“Catnaps, he calls them,” she replied reminiscing cheerfully.

“Yeah.”

“I'm not a Time Lady. I'm human, just like you. And to me, I've only been gone for 10 months, not 21 years.”

“Oh, so I'm from the future, then. That's cool!” A pause during which he intently looked at his spoon, which was still stuck midway between his bowl and his mouth. “But wait, I shouldn't be telling you anything about Coal Hill and stuff, then.”

“That's fine. My disappearance became a fixed point in time, I can't go back. You can tell me anything you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if the Doctor has a time machine, there are some events that can't be changed. Too many important things happened since I left my present time for me to be able to go back. Changing those events could have dramatic repercussions.”

It felt strange, saying all this out loud. Yet it helped her coming to terms with her situation. She couldn't let herself mourn for the years she wouldn't be able to live normally. Time wasn't a straightforward line, after all. That was one of the first things she had learnt when travelling with the Doctor.

“You speak like him,” Nils remarked, frowning. Clara wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a compliment or not. “And I'm still not sure I understand why you can't go back. Sometimes we left for a lot more time than just a few hours with the Doctor, but we were always able to come back at the right time.”

“It's something that Time Lords feel. Those fixed points that can't be altered. They can sense a lot more than us – they're trained to do that. And once you've travelled for a while with the Doctor, you start feeling them too, somehow.”

Clara was startled by her own words. She had never said that out loud to anyone, not even the Doctor, but she realised that she hadn't lied. She _could_ feel that some events were different than others. Rooted and unescapable. That was probably why she had been so understanding when the Doctor told her about her fate on Earth. She had _known_ somehow, expected it.

“But that's awful! Everybody thinks that you're... Well, that you died.”

The young teenager said the last word very quietly, as though still afraid it would cause her anguish.

“No one has forgotten you, though,” he rushed in to add, “they named the assembly room after you, with a commemorative plaque. Picture and everything.”

“How do I look on it?” she asked half seriously.

“Really... nice. Yeah, it's a really good picture, I think,” he replied, his cheeks reddening.

Finally at a loss for words, he munched on his soaked cereals thoughtfully, not looking into her eyes. Clara fixed herself a cup of tea in the meantime, wanting to talk more to the boy. He was a mine of vital information to her – he'd be ready to tell her things the Doctor would keep resolutely quiet.

“You said the Doctor spent a very long time looking for me. Do you know how long?” she inquired, hoping she would finally receive an answer on that subject.

Nils looked pointedly at her, opened his mouth, and was on the verge of replying when he suddenly stopped himself.

“I think you should ask him,” he settled on saying, his gaze far away.

“I already did, he wouldn't say,” she defended herself, crossing her arms on the table.

“Ask him again. It took him a while for him to tell me. And I don't think he's used to talking about that time – it was almost an accident when he said it. Like he had to let it out.”

Clara looked at the boy more closely – with his odd choice of headware and serious eyes. She had misjudged his relationship with the Doctor. He wasn't simply a part-time traveller – he was more than that. Some trust had grown between them over time. Not something flimsy and temporary. Something real and strong. She was almost envious of him – that was a hard thing to gain, the Doctor's trust. Their bound must be special.

“I met the Doctor before I started teaching at Coal Hill, to answer one of your previous questions. Before he had this face. Did he tell you about regenerations?”

A nod. The boy was drinking her words, mesmerised, as though he couldn't believe she would accept to talk to him.

“I called the TARDIS thinking I was speaking to an IT hotline for my faulty computer. Can you believe it?”

A shake of his head. Then a nod. Clara grinned. It felt good to remember more carefree times.

“We had lots of adventures. Some dangerous ones, some frankly _silly_ ones. But I never regretted a day I spent with him – I had the best of times.”

Nils beamed.

“He's wonderful, isn't he?” he marvelled, his eyes sparkling.

“What about you? When did you meet him? Where have you been together?”

And so Nils told her. About how the Doctor had started coming to Coal Hill every Wednesday. Had been doing so for years, picking up new kids regularly to show them the universe. Teaching them about what was out there, and so doing revealing to them the difference they could make in their own lives. How significant they could be, no matter where they came from, or how inconsequential they felt. And Clara felt just a little more in love with her impossible alien. It also cemented her resolve that the Doctor had done more in her absence for those kids than she would ever be able to achieve in her teaching career, no matter how hard she tried. She'd gladly forego 20 years of life on Earth if it meant that so many kids had their eyes opened.

Clara listened to the boy's wonderful tales and let her worries disappear – even if it was only for a while.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know where this story is going and will update regularly. Do not hesitate to leave reviews or comments. Thank you for reading!


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